Don't Look Back
by Cat McDougall
Summary: The Empire was almost destroyed in the Mage Storms. A roving band of brigands completes the destruction for one family. OneShot


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Disclaimer: All things Velgarth belong to M. Lackey.

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Don't Look Back

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—Don't look back.—

He hitches the sack higher on his thin shoulders. It smells like the smoke he'd left behind. He wipes a hand over his face, the soot making streaks along his cheeks, where his tears hadn't washed it away.

Behind him, smoke still rises lazily in the still spring air. It smells of wood, of fabric, and when the wind blew right, of flesh. He ignores the smells, his mind blanking out the horror he'd left behind.

His feet trudge along the road, a heavy rhythm against the packed hardness. Around him the fields ripple in the breeze. None of the sights penetrate his grief stricken mind.

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—Don't look back.—

He couldn't… didn't dare look back. It would be a horrific scene that met his irritated eyes. One he didn't want to ever see again, yet would haunt his dreaming hours for the rest of his life.

His mother, lying in a pool of blood, cradling his youngest sister against her no longer breathing breast. His father sprawled over his youngest brother, their blood mingling in the muddy farm yard. His eldest brother impaled on the plough blades he'd been sharpening.

All of them were gone. It had only taken an instant.

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—Don't look back.—

He'd been in the barn when the sound of hooves in the farm yard had piqued his curiosity. Looking out, he'd seen the sword swipe take down his father and youngest brother. A screech, ending in a gurgle had told of his mother's death.

Stifling a scream, he'd slunk back into the shadows of the barn, scrabbling, as silently as he could, up into the hayloft, hoping to hide himself.

Heavy boots on the hardpacked earthen floor of the barn, heralded the arrival of someone. It obviously wasn't anyone of his family. Another scream, this time from behind the barn, said they'd found his brother. His deaf brother. The one he should've gone to get when their father had died. But he hadn't. Now, his eldest brother was dead.

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—Don't look back.—

He had stayed hidden. For hours, days, eternity, he hid in that hay. The boot-steps had disappeared. The sound of hooves leaving his yard had spoken of possible safety. Still, he'd stayed hidden, until the smell of smoke had twitched his nose.

Then he'd become very conscious of the very flammable hay he'd been hiding in. Did he dare move? Another whiff of smoke had decided him. Cautiously, he'd crawled out of his hiding place, ready to hide again at any sign of the bandits.

Outside, he'd thrown up without any warning, seeing his family. All the blood that had been spilled around them couldn't possibly belong to them. The metallic scent filled his nostrils, making him queasy. He'd almost thrown up again. Instead, something had kicked into gear. Some survival instinct had taken control.

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—Don't look back.—

He'd raced into the house, grabbing what few things he could. Throwing them into a sack, he'd taken it out to a bush, stashing it there. He had also taken his father's bow, and the quiver of arrows, snatching them out of the house before the fire had caught them.

Once that was done, he'd looked at the dead bodies of his family. He couldn't help them. Nothing he could do would help them. Biting his lip, he'd begun dragging his mother into the house. That had been when he'd found his sister. With a cry of hope, he'd dropped to his knees.

Just to find that his baby sister, still an infant in arms, was dead as well. Tears had started then. He'd carried so gently, minding her head as his mother had taught him, laying her on his mother's chest.

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—Don't look back.—

He couldn't move his father. Not all the way into the house. He'd settled for getting him to the stairs. Picking up his little brother, he'd laid the boy at his father's side, near their mother's feet. Smoke was rolling from the house now, along with heat.

Still. He was determined. He was going to find his brother and put him with the rest of the family. Rounding the barn, he'd cried out, seeing how his brother had been impaled on the blades of the plough that he'd been sharpening. Pulling, tugging and sweating, he realised he'd never get his brother back to the house. Not without help. And the thieves had taken the family mule.

Crying with hiccupping sobs now, he finally pulled his brother from the blade with a sucking sound. The body fell on him as he stumbled, falling to the ground. Crying harder, he shoved his brother off of him. Then he rolled to his knees, retching at the blood on his clothes. Wiping his mouth, he got to his feet and began dragging the body into the barn.

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—Don't look back.—

Sparks had flown from the house to ignite the barn's roof. He'd smashed the lamp in the one stall, lighting a piece of hay and setting the oil alight. Then he'd turned away.

His shirt was blood stained. With numb fingers, he'd shouldered the pack and begun trudging away, the smoke following him through the sky.

He doesn't look back, his mind completely blanking out the entire sight that he'd seen in the place once called home. His feet slap against the hard packed road, his bootless feet tough enough for a long journey.

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—Don't look back.—

He glances up at the sky, trying to figure out what time it is. He fails, being too distraught to focus on the sky enough to tell the position of the sun.

With a sigh, he trudges on, not knowing where he is going. There really isn't anywhere _to_ go. If what his father had once said was true, the Empire had fallen apart. They had been some of the lucky ones, almost completely unaffected by the magic storms that had ripped through the countryside. They had lost their cow, and their draft horses, but they'd kept their lives, and most of their fields. All in all, not badly compared to their neighbours.

As well, until now they'd escaped the notice the eyes of the roving bands of thieves. All that had now changed— He pushes the thought away.

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—Don't look back.—

That is all lost now. Lost under flames, under blood and under the bodies of his family. Hitching the pack higher on his shoulder, he keeps walking. There isn't anything left behind him. Nothing is in front of him. Life is bleak.

A sigh, as he keeps walking, the rhythm of his steps coming loud to his ears. Against the hard earth of the road, his feet slap down, the callused soles unfazed by the surface. Birds sing songs in the trees, trying to infuse the air with a little cheer.

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—Don't look back.—

He looks up from the road, trying to see where the road is leading. To his surprise, he finds himself close to the bend. It had seemed so far away before. Now, he could almost see around it. He staggers slightly, as the wind shifts bringing the smells of smoke, wood, burning fabric, and destroyed flesh.

Shuddering, he tries to go on again. It doesn't work. He falls to his knees, the pack falling to the ground next to him, as he fights back the rising nausea. Gulping heavy drafts of air, he tries to block the smells from his mind.

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—Don't look back.—

He gulps air again, pushing himself back to his feet. Staggering, the pack is shouldered again. His feet take up the rhythm of rising and falling once more.

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—Don't look back.—

His feet keep moving of their own accord. He isn't conscious of anything anymore. Only getting away from the smells, and the remembered sights, matters. A step. Another. Getting closer to the bend.

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—Don't look back.—

The bend, once marking the end of his world, and the beginning of the rest, curves in front of him. A step. Maybe two and he would be around it. It's so close. Until now he hadn't looked back. But now the urge takes him and he cannot resist.

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—Don't look back.—

He turns. His farm, his home, is all but invisible behind trees. The only thing that pinpoints it is the black smoke still pluming into the sky. A single tear rolls down his face. He wipes it away, ignoring the smearing soot and old blood on his cheek.

Turning away, he looks at the bend in the road.

Then he takes that step. Then another. Just before he's around it, he looks back one more time. His home is gone and he must go on and figure out how to survive all alone.

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—Don't look back. Don't ever look back.—


End file.
